


Not With A Whimper, but a Bang

by Devilc



Category: Supernatural, Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-06 01:36:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And at least once in the back seat of that car."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not With A Whimper, but a Bang

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brynwulf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Brynwulf).



> Written for Brynwulf. Sequel to [Not With A Bang, but a Whimper](http://archiveofourown.org/works/48292).

Even though they're both grown men, a part of Derek will never stop looking up to Dean, looking for his approval. He realizes this when he stands up and asks, "Was I good?"

(Like his damn 16 year old self would have.)

Dean gapes at him, disbelieving. "Were you good?!" His mouth opens and shuts a few times before he says, "You're a goddamned hoover!" and reaches out, cupping both hands around Derek's head, holding him in place for a rough and hungry kiss. When they break for air, Dean asks, "So, what do you want?"

Through a mouth that feels sandy dry, Derek manages to rasp, "In the car."

Dean snorts with amusement. He slides his hands across Derek's shoulders and then down and around, until they're at the small of his back. Derek's pulse hammers at the full body contact.

Before he can stop himself, Derek blurts the truth, "I've dreamed of getting laid in this  in a car like this since I first saw  a little after I turned 15." Okay, mostly the truth.

Dean shakes with silent laughter. "What happened?" he asks, grinning ear to ear.

Even the thrill of being this close to Dean can't stop a small cold stone from forming in the pit of Derek's stomach. It takes him a few moments to find words to say. "Life happened."

Dean doesn't ask what that means. Or maybe he wasn't really paying attention to the answer, because he's turning, opening the door, arm around Derek's shoulders.

Derek crawls in and feels a little unsure as he slides across the smooth, well-worn leather of the back seat. Because now, he's not exactly sure how this is going to work. He's not a little guy and neither is Dean.

(They'll find a way. He's sure of it.)

Before he has time to think about anything more, Dean's climbing in over and on him  _and of course Dean's done this before_  he'll know what to do. Derek laughs at himself a little inside.

Dean presses him all the way back to the other door and Derek keeps going until the armrest and the window crank thing start digging into his shoulders and neck something fierce. He's got one leg bent at the knee, foot on the floor, the other is up and over the top of the seat, foot jammed between the back dash and glass at a crazy angle and Dean's straddling him, one knee between his legs (_ohgod!_), bracing himself on one arm that's by Derek's head, and Dean's looking down at him with a mixture of amusement and want.

Derek opens his mouth to say something, but Dean's other hand reaches for his belt buckle and Derek gives a little _oh!_ as lightning corkscrews up his spine.

A split second later, Dean leans in and kisses him, hotly, wetly, and Derek's got to do something back, so he slides his hands up and under the tail of Dean's shirt and he can't help but pause when he feels the scars.

"A little roadmap of past adventures," Dean whispers against his lips.

Derek chuckles softly back. "I've got a few of those myself."

(_And a barcode from a concentration camp._)

He doesn't even try to stop the groan when Dean finds the place on his neck, the one that keeps sending jolts the length of his body, just as his other hand snakes into Derek's jeans, cupping him through the thin cotton of his jockeys. And then, a moment later, his hand reaches in.

There aren't words after that.

Dean's all business, jerking him hard and fast.

Derek doesn't last long. Just digs his fingers hard enough into the muscle of Dean's back to make him swear as he gasps a quick, "OhGod!" and arches up.

They're both a fucking sticky mess by the time that they get out of the car. Dean finally finds a shop rag that isn't completely filthy and Derek uses it to blot at the worst of it, not that there's much to do about it at this point except throw everything in the washer.

As he runs a hand over and through his hair, Dean says, "Next time, bed. I've got one hell of a crick in my shoulder."

Derek points. "Yeah? You weren't the one with the armrest digging into you right here. By the way, sorry about the beard-burn."

Dean snorts. "I'm also not the one with the hickey on my neck. Sorry."

Derek reaches up to where he can feel something faintly throbbing on his neck. "Well, shit," he mutters. But there's no heat in it. In fact, he's holding back the grin.

"Um "

"Look "

They even snicker at the same time.

"I'd better be getting back about now," Derek says. "We should do something tomorrow."

Dean smiles and nods. "Definitely."

A part of Derek wants to whoop and holler and run. A part of him's also a little nervous about what's going to happen when he goes back in.

He forces himself to a casual walk.

Rapping out a quick code, he opens the back door and sees that they're all gathered at the kitchen table, working on some project.

(Okay, then.) He takes a deep breath and walks in.

John glances up and over  "Hey, Derek, what do you think of " but the words die out and he claps his hands over his mouth in an attempt to hold back the laughter.

Even Sarah doesn't bother to hide her smile as she shakes her head and mutters, "You sly dog, you."

Derek puts his hands in his pockets and says, "So, I'll take a shower first."

He's across the floor and about to enter the hall when _It_ asks what's so humorous.

He freezes in place as Sarah calmly explains that he just had sex with one of the new next door neighbors.

It points out that they're both men, so how can there be a baby?

John says that humans have sex for fun, not just to get pregnant.

"I don't understand," It says.

Derek continues down the hall and into the bathroom. He turns on the shower and studies his reflection in the mirror as he waits for the water to heat up  hair every which way, lips swollen and puffy, and a hickey like the great red spot of Jupiter on his neck. He laughs.

The water is that perfect temperature as he climbs in and sighs with pleasure. He thinks about telling It that humans have sex for the same reason they dance, or sing, or play baseball, or drink cold beer on a hot day, or sigh in a good, hot shower.

For the sheer joy of it.

But It won't get it.

It never will.

"It's why we're going to win," he murmurs to himself as he soaps up. "In the end, we're simply going to want it more."


End file.
